| Blossom wite bird cherries scatter On the on the dewy grass like snow. Hungry rooks in ploughland gather, Picked warms up as they go. Low the silk smooth grath is bending, Pitch scents to the pine-trees cling. Groves in leaf, and luscios meadows - How the senses reel in spring! Secret things give me pleasure, Heart-ease and delight they bring. There's a girl whose love I treasure And of her alone I thing. Shed your blossom-snow, bird cherries! Sing, birds, in they shady groves. Weaving up and down the meadow I'll go scattering flower foam. Sergei Esenin |
| The pillow hot On both sides, The second candle Dying, the ravens Crying. Haven't Slept all night, too late To dream of sleep... How unbearably white The blind on the white window. Good morning, morning! * * * Black and enduring separation I share equally with you. Why weep? Give me your hand, Promise me you will come again. You and I are like high Mountains and we can't move closer. Just send me word At midnight sometime through the stars. Anna Akmatova |